


Thirst

by AreaChickie



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Blood and Violence, Cybertron Subculture, Energon from unconventional sources, Fun 80's Music, Gearbox (another OC and a "working girl"), JunkieWhore!Starscream, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:15:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21923533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AreaChickie/pseuds/AreaChickie
Summary: Originally posted under my real name (Laura K Arnold) on another site.  Re-vamped and finally including elements I'd been dying to include.Early chapters are slow, but it will earn its explicit warning soon.A creature stalks Cybertron looking for energon that doesn't come in cubes.
Relationships: Starscream/Syphon (OC), Syphon (OC)/ Arcee
Comments: 7
Kudos: 2





	1. Let's Get It  Started

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place around events leading up right before the time of TF:TM, the 1986 movie, but not after. Moon bases under construction, Prime's alive, etc.

As the cold, pervasive night rolled over and stretched itself across the great expanse of the universe, Cybertron, a wasteland whose glory has long since been forsaken, spun itself pointlessly around its axis, languishing millions of light years from the nearest tree, protozoan or quirky GEICO television commercial.

Such an absolute emptiness reminded one that the universe was indeed, a vast, frigid, godless vacuum, wherein Cybertron was merely a ball of cosmic aluminum foil and its few remaining inhabitants were little more than tin insects, buzzing insignificantly among the stars.

Among these tin insects was Shockwave, Decepticon guardian of Cybertron. Cycloptic and bored, he gazed tiredly into the never-ending void of stars and nothingness from his vantage point in the ruins of the Decepticon base. Then, a voice shattered the still, jolting his sensors back to a state of semi-awareness.

"Shockwave! Come in, Shockwave!" A flickering image of Megatron, clouded with magnetic field noise from across the galaxy, appeared on Shockwave's primary communications monitor. At last!

"Yes, mighty Megatron. Is the alpha shipment prepared?"

"Yes, and you can expect it to arrive on schedule if Starscream doesn't foul anything up. Report status of the space bridge and transmit cargo perimeter coordinates when they become available."

"Acknowledged. Transmitting." As if there were anything else for him to do on Cybertron!

Megatron's image on the monitor jumped again, then steadied. "Starscream will accompany the energon cubes over the space bridge, and Astrotrain should be arriving in the next few nanocycles with the Constructicons to begin laying the groundwork for the generator. See that my plans are followed according to schedule... much Decepticon energon was spilt to make a shipment of this many energon cubes possible, and we've come too far now to fail. I trust you understand the importance of this mission?"

"Indeed, Megatron. I assure you that construction of the generator will begin as planned. Shockwave out."

For the first time in vorns the endless tapestry of stars that surrounded Cybertron seemed to twinkle a bit, and a definite feeling of excitement buzzed through Shockwave's circuits. For once it really seemed the tide of this Great War would change from the frustrating touch-and-go stalemate of the past millions of years. Any change, even small, was certainly welcome.

Two pivotal energy raids on the planet Earth had been conducted successfully, resulting in a bumper crop of energon cubes. Rather than consuming them or wasting them on battling the Autobots, Megatron had decided to invest the cubes in a directed effort to bolster his warriors’ faith in the Decepticon cause by building a strong foundation at an even stronger source: The Decepticon Reclamation of Cybertron. Regaining control of Cybertron was a critical step in defeating the Autobots once and for all; and now, it seemed truly possible. With the prospect of building a generator on Cybertron fully within their grasp, the Decepticons really _could_ rebuild.

But that was thinking too far ahead. Shockwave's primary objective was making sure Starscream, along with several tons of energon, didn't veer off into space in the manner of a child's toy getting sucked out of a car window speeding down the interstate.

* * *

"Perceptor to Optimus Prime... an energon shipment of excessive proportions has been detected traveling via the space bridge to Cybertron. Preliminary calculations based on data from the last six Earth months indicate the shipment is 345% larger than average, with a margin of error of-"

"That'll do, Perceptor.” Prime stifled a sly smile under his mask in spite of the pedantic scientist’s grim news.

“Notify Blaster and the others on the secondary Moon Base. If there is the threat of Decepticon activity that we've suspected, our task force from Cybertron is better equipped to handle the situation. Right now, with the Moon Base still under construction, there's little we can do here on Earth. We'll organize a strike force from Autobot City as soon as Ultra Magnus needs our help."

"Very well, Optimus Prime. Perceptor out."

* * *

The activation of the mighty tower that comprised the Cybertronian portion of the space bridge was quite a spectacle to behold. On the rare occasion that Syphon was out and about to witness it, he felt inexplicably drawn to the delicious prospect of a bizarre and unholy reunion with his distant Decepticon relatives, electronically smuggling themselves across cosmos, riding on a beam of light with ill-gotten Energon in tow. What suicidal macho-mechs! 

It had been practically ages since Syphon cut ties with his Decepticon brethren to pursue his own survival on his own terms. After millions of cycles of pointless fighting, he simply found the proposition of serving in a fourth— a fourth! — Great War tedious at best and revolting at worst. He bid his comrades as well as his own trine of Seekers a silent farewell as they recharged and, with muted fanfare usually reserved for traitors and conscientious objectors who prefer nightclubs to night raids, set out on his own to travel the galaxy. He'd returned to Cybertron only upon overhearing bounty hunters in a pub that Cybertron was all but deserted.

"’Ello, what's this?" Syphon mused to himself in a smoky whisper. The image of the space bridge opening on his monitor cast purple lights around his underground room, giving his cruel but lithe, handsome face an insidious glow. After an instant, he clapped his hands together giddily, laughing a gilded, foppish laugh. “Oooooh! Shockwave must have visitors! The nerve... having a party and not inviting me! Well then... I'll just drop in and have an hors d'oeurve." Emerging from his den, Syphon transformed into his stealth fighter mode and cloaked himself with psionic energy to avoid detection by the occasional passing drone, guardian robot or…

Or completely, utterly stupid Decepticon.

He skirted the planet's surface, maneuvering around Shockwave's security grid with practiced ease. After only a few moments the old Decepticon base was in view. Transforming again, he withdrew breathlessly into the shadows near the beta entrance to Decepticon headquarters.

* * *

Inside Decepticon headquarters, Shockwave readied himself for the arrival of Starscream and the energon cubes. He could only handle Starscream's proud insolence for a few cycles at a time, so he prepared a list of meaningless tasks relating to the construction of the generator in which he could put Starscream in charge. Not that convincing Starscream to do busy work would be easy... but if he played his cards right, he could flatter Starscream into doing just about anything. Besides, most of the generator's internal monitors, such as efficiency and output, were Starscream's design, so he'd be occupied with busy work of his own.

"Okay, I'm here!” sang an all-to-familiar nasal grind. “Let's get this thing started!"

Shockwave cringed internally. Perched atop a heap of energon that nearly went to the ceiling, Starscream waved the wave of a king ordering his servants to freshen his drink and leapt gracefully from his glowing purple energon throne. "Let's get these cubes unloaded. I'm in charge of this operation, and it's up to me to ensure that the construction of this generator goes smoothly."

If he'd had a glossa, Shockwave would've bitten it. Instead, he extended his hand to Starscream and managed a front of professional courtesy. "Welcome back, Air Commander. Astrotrain has not yet arrived with the Constructicons, so perhaps we could review the schematics and begin selecting the site of the generator based on the data I've..."

Starscream dismissed Shockwave with a confident wave of his hand as he strutted about the old Decepticon Command Center. "I've already got a spot picked out, based on data you sent me while the generator was still in its design stages. I trust the layout of Cybertron hasn't changed markedly in the past seven cycles?" Starscream smiled wickedly at Shockwave, pleased with how smoothly his role in the design and planning stages of the generator went. "Once the Constructicons arrive, we can begin laying the groundwork for the generator... ahead of schedule." Starscream had, in fact, come prepared. "Until they get here, I'll be outside taking a walk."

Shockwave was out of ideas for dealing with the petulant Air Commander. "I shall contact you when they arrive."

"You're _too kind_ , old friend," said Starscream, overly polite. Turning with a flourish, Starscream set out to wander Cybertron’s surface in solitude — maybe fly around a bit— until it was time to begin working.

As Starscream set foot outside the base for his first breath of Cybertron’s thin, chilly, arid air, he felt a familiar and unwelcome chill, something to make him feel provoked yet neglected, all at the same time. Memories of a thriving civilization, a civilization of which he'd been a part, seemed impossibly distant now. In his spark he craved for the splendor that had once been Cybertron. Shimmering cities of crystal-crusted platinum, unparalleled in their beauty...

So immersed in thought was Starscream that he failed to notice the glimmer of silver and black lurking in the shadows. Suddenly, he felt a light tap on his left shoulder. Startled, he whirled about to face nothingness with a readied null ray.

"What the... who's there? Show yourself!" Just an echo, and then silence answered him, mocking his frustration.

"Cowardly neutral scum," he muttered, lowering his null ray.

As the doors to the beta entrance slid shut behind him, Starscream felt a cold hand seize him by the wrist. Before he could react, his left arm was wrenched around and made useless with a cruel snapping of his shoulder rotator, and he found himself pinned to the ground with his good arm crushed under himself. Excruciating pain silenced the anguished cry building in his voice synthesizer; all he could do was gaze into the crimson eyes which seemed to appear from the shadows above him.

"Sorry, sweetheart, no guns. I'm not your enemy," cooed Syphon, touching Starscream's facial derma lightly, menacingly.

Starscream scanned his attacker up and down, his optics settling on a Decepticon symbol. "Who are you?" he managed weakly, struggling beneath the oppressive weight of his attacker.

"Hush, hush... You’ve always known I'm not one for pillow talk, Screamer. Now tilt your head back a little for me. Just a little more... Yes, that's it. Much better..."

Starscream felt his primary systems going offline one by one as his head was forced back against the ground. Something tore into his neck; the neural net that gave him sensation in his helm and chest flickered with painful impulses as he smelled his own energon spilling onto the ground. He twitched weakly, his mind searching frantically for a way out.

It had been ages since Syphon had fed like this, gorging himself on the sweet energon of a warrior fattened by the spoils of battle. Unrestrained and ravenous, he greedily buried his face into Starscream’s carotid conduit and drank deeply, hungrily, spurred on by the heady aroma of fresh, warm, lithium-spiked energon gushing over the pale, glossy frame of his favorite wartime antagonist.

When he had at last sated himself, Syphon pulled away, delighting in the look of terror on Starscream's ashen face. Wiping his mouth on his arm, Syphon rose and scanned the area for others, his guard having been dropped in his few moments of wicked abandon.

"Looks like I can make good my escape... Oh, and don't bother calling me, Starscream... These are usually just one-night things but fear not; I’ll comm you. Maybe." With that, Syphon faded back into the shadows from whence he came.


	2. Unholy Eucharist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heating up!

"Primus! What happened?"

Hook and Long Haul discovered Starscream's limp and near lifeless body less than a few clicks after Syphon vanished. They’d set out looking for the petulant Seeker after multiple comms had gone unanswered. Not completely unusual for Starscream, but the distinct lack of an irritated reply of, “Alright, alright! I fragging _heard_ you!” was cause for whatever concern the two Constructicons could muster. After rounding the back of the base, they found Starscream covered in congealing energon and nearly in stasis. Panicked, they reported back to Shockwave immediately.

“He’s been attacked?”

“Looks like it,” replied Hook as Long Haul assessed the carnage.

“Hook? Something bit him.”

“Bit him? What, like a Sharkticon?” Hook’s commlink was still open for Shockwave to take in the details.

“No, no. This is… creepier.”

As much as Shockwave disliked Starscream, a comrade was a comrade, and Starscream had been wounded badly. And sadistically, at that. He knew he had to contact Megatron as soon as possible, as daunting a task that would be; delivering very, very bad news on such short notice, especially at such a crucial time in a delicate operation, was best done when damage control was already underway.

“Have Long Haul get Starscream into med bay and try to get him back online immediately. Astrotrain will go with the other Constructicons and secure the perimeter. We have little time, and I don't want whatever is out there to get in."

Long Haul transformed; Hook lifted Starscream’s limp chassis into the dump truck before transforming and speeding back into base.

"Megatron! Shockwave to Megatron! Come in!" Shockwave's hands flew deftly over his communications console, modulating dampening fields and amplifying his signal with all the power he could spare. Contacting Earth was nigh on impossible with the dense cloud of radio and satellite pollution that surrounded the tiny planet like gnats on a golf course.

"Shockwave! How goes construction on the generator? I didn't expect a progress report so soon..."

"Megatron, I regret to inform you that I am not reporting progress. There has been a setback in the plan—"

"What! This is intolerable!"

"Mighty Megatron, Starscream has been... attacked. Rather savagely, in fact. The data is inconclusive, but I absolutely doubt the attack was Autobot-related."

"So… repair him and continue with the generator!” cried Megatron, smashing a mighty fist into the armrest of his already very-punished war room chair. “We must not lose sight of our goal. Have I made myself clear, Shockwave?"

"Understood. However, until we know precisely what happened, the operation may be in jeopardy. I am therefore requesting reinforcements."

The mighty warlord’s face suddenly shifted from impatient rage to curiosity. "What in Primus happened, Shockwave? This is highly unlike you." For the moment, Megatron's attention was shifted from the generator to the primary issue at hand. His second-in-command had been attacked, but this was the first time ever that Shockwave had expressed that a lone attack on “he-totally-had-it-coming” Starscream meant actual danger for the greater Decepticon cause. “Do you suppose we have a genuine unknown threat at hand?”

"Megatron... whatever creature attacked Starscream may have psionic abilities. It may be able to cloak itself, it may be able to teleport... but it strikes quickly and, well... primitively. When we found Starscream he had lacerations on his neck and arms that resembled bite marks. What's more, more than eighty percent of his energon had been drained away, apparently through these... erm, bite marks. The entire attack occurred right outside the Decepticon base, about 2 meters from the beta entrance and in under 3 Earth minutes."

Megatron stood silently, allowing the details Shockwave's report to sink into his processors. "Two meters from the beta entrance? There must be some mistake... what about the security grid?"

"Negative, Megatron. No data was recorded." Shockwave cast his eye downward in relative shame.

"Then proceed with the operation using utmost caution. A creature this ruthless, or desperate, may strike again. I'll send the Combaticons as back up. Step up your security efforts, using psionic disrupter arrays and subspace frequency modulators to enhance detection of cloaked intruders. Report back to me in before the next cycle. Megatron out."

The communication monitor blinked to a blank sapphire glow. Switching back to the external monitoring systems, Shockwave found himself once more gazing into the cold void that surrounded Cybertron. Only this time, he didn't feel particularly alone...

* * *

Blaster sat, dumbfounded, in the communications tower on the partially constructed Autobot Moon Base. Their primary objective was to keep a close eye on the recent Decepticon activity on the planet's surface, but this transmission that he'd just intercepted disturbed him greatly. Some energon-sucker attacking mechs? That slag’s for horror movies, reasoned Blaster.

"Ultra Magnus, holla at me, Ultra Magnus. We've got a big bucket of weird in progress down near the site of the old Decepticon base near the surface of Cybertron.”

The old soldier swept his stooped shoulders back, straightening himself before facing the viewscreen. “Magnus, here. Blaster, how “weird” is weird, exactly?”

“Ever seen an old Earth vampire movie?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t.”

“Well, some weird cloaked … thing just jumped Starscream two meters away from a Decepticon base entrance. Didn’t trigger a single security protocol. Drank the shrill lil’ bastard’s energon straight outta his nec—"

“Enough, Blaster. I… I think I get it.” In reality, Ultra Magnus had no idea what Blaster was going on about.

"I'm on my way. Has everyone been briefed on Perceptor's report from Autobot city?"

"We've got two of the noobs on the assignment. Hot Rod and Arcee are patrolling the planet's surface, looking for the construction site of the generator and the energon shipment. But you'd better haul aft... this development could spell trouble for those kids."

"I'll see you in five. Magnus out."

Blaster scanned the surface of Cybertron for energy signatures other than those of the two new Autobot ensigns, Hot Rod and Arcee. Negative. The scout mission was hardly dangerous, but the two had been instructed to maintain radio silence to avoid detection by Shockwave or his drones. Hopefully they'd make it back before whatever monster was down there decided they were the second course.

* * *

Starscream drifted in and out of consciousness while Hook struggled to get his basic life functions back online. Occasionally, an image of Syphon, terrifying and vivid, would grip his processors. It were as if the mech who called himself “Syphon” were actually there, in med bay, straddling Starscream’s narrow repair-berth and grinding his panel obscenely into the other’s codpiece, hissing nasty filth into his audials, lapping at his neck wounds and cooing, “Hush, Screamer. There’s so much more to come. So much more to come.”

Then, Starscream would flail and shriek at nothingness, "Get him off me! Get him off me! Nooo..."

Swindle looked on with Shockwave at this spectacle of intense fear with a sickly feeling tank. He actually felt pity for Starscream, who'd been violated pretty horribly. Finally, he turned to Shockwave. "We're gonna fall behind schedule on the generator, huh?"

Shockwave just shook his head, and ruefully returned to the communications console to update Megatron on Starscream's condition.

* * *

A scouting assignment! Primus... don't we have satellites for this kind of slag? wondered Hot Rod to himself as he raced around another curve. Nothing. Miles of abandoned, forgotten nothing. I only took this assignment because I thought I was going to get to hang out with Arcee. That didn't work out, either, as they ended up splitting up to cover more ground. I'd rather be in my quarters, drinking enerbrew until I forget why I volunteered for this assignment, he thought.

What's more, I'm fifteen meters from the Decepticon base, and I can't find evidence that they're building a ship in a fraggin' bottle, let alone an entire power station or whatever it is they're up to. Better head back to the rendezvous point. Arcee's gonna be lonely, heh heh...

* * *

Hearty meals featuring unwilling entrees always left Syphon in good spirits. Transforming again, he sped off into the night, flying low and weaving through darkened corridors in search of more action. If one Decepticon had returned to summer on Cybertron, then more couldn't be far behind. The very thought made Syphon positively giddy. “Toys and treats and toys and treats!” he tittered to himself… Rough, battle-scarred armor to tear at with his denta, pliant conduits of energon pulsating just below. Primus, I’m getting a spike-on.

Flying in the manner he did, it didn't take him long to return to his den deep within Cybertron to prepare for more Decepticon guests. Transforming back to his robot mode, he coasted quietly along and landed softly a few meters from his den's cloaked entrance. Ever since the beginning of the Fourth Great War, when the Decepticons chased the Autobots off of Cybertron, the practice of living underground with one's front door concealed by outlandish displays of rubbish had quickly moved from being necessary for survival to being trendy. Sometimes Syphon wondered if he should just ditch his underground hideout in favor of a normal above ground base and stop living like a gopher-bot. Anyway, if an enemy came looking, the first place they'd look was underneath all the rubble.

It wasn’t as if he weren’t ready for that to occur. There are booby traps… and then, there are _Syphon’s_ booby traps.

Syphon was sufficiently distracted by his thoughts that he almost didn't notice the curvy pink and white femme poking around in the refuse and scrap near his doorway. "Primus alive, where the frag did that angel come from?" he muttered, cloaking himself and ducking around the back way to get a closer look at the beguiling intruder. Teleporting himself to the to the quivering and bobbing tip of an abandoned communications tower, he perched himself high up and watched with interest by the light of Cybertron's nearest moon, which had just risen. "Whatcha lookin' for, little missy?" Syphon asked silently, smiling though he knew she'd never see him. Lithe and graceful, the color of rose quartz, the femme seemed absorbed in her task, unaware of the pair of sanguine eyes trained on her body.

Her neck, specifically.

Syphon, despite his recent feast, was unable to contain his impassioned hunger, especially in light of his deliciously indecent fantasies of a fresh wave of battlefield mechs collapsing into puddles of spilled energon waiting to be lapped at by a hungry cyberkitten. He decloaked, slid down the communications tower and approached her, as was his custom, from the shadows. He felt a quickening in his fuel pump, as he reached out and grabbed her arm.

* * *

Over two kilometers away, Hot Rod thought he heard a femme scream. A single female scream, then utter silence. Scanning the surface, he managed to trace her energy signature, faint as it was, and follow it.

* * *

Syphon clamped a silver hand over Arcee's ruby mouth. "Shh, my little Autobot flower," he whispered soothingly, in the manner of a lover. "No need to fuss and screech. No one can hear you." He leaned in closer. “I’ll be sure of that.”

Arcee struggled with helpless intensity, pinned down by this monster, her blaster having been flung far into the bowels of Cybertron by Syphon. He detested guns almost as much as he detested the ongoing war between the Autobots and Decepticons, and he never hesitated to disarm his prey.

Still, Arcee kicked and growled and howled, her anger blazing in her cold blue eyes. Syphon was suddenly possessed by a maddening urge to crush this beautiful creature beneath him, to tear her open and drink her energon, still warm and very much alive as he violated her valve, her aft… wherever. She was slag, scrap metal, pit fodder…

Or was she? She fought with sparkforce and grace, agony and strength. This precious femme might be worthwhile.

Syphon would need time. Activating the door with his processors, he gathered her in his arms and descended into his den, a terrifying parody of a demon returning to hell with a kidnapped angel.


	3. You Don't Agree, But You Don't Refuse...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more about Syphon. So you can understand him.

No sign of her. Gone without a trace, as if the planet itself had opened up and consumed her. No... that's a stupid thought; planets don't eat robots. Do they? Nah... Maybe in a cheesy Earth sci-fi movie. But not here, not on Cybertron, not at night.

Seventy-five cycles behind schedule, Hot Rod came screeching up to the rendezvous point.

"Ensign Hot Rod reporting, sir," he said, transforming and saluting his commanding officer. Hastily, he added, "Has Arcee returned yet?"

"At ease, Hot Rod," replied Ultra Magnus. A note of concern crept into his voice, "As a matter of fact, she hasn't. Is there something I should know, ensign?"

"Er, well..." Hot Rod panicked. Stay calm, he admonished himself. It won't do anyone any good to freak out. "We separated when we reached the planet's surface with an agreement to meet up with each other at specified points and times within our sector. Each point, each path of travel and each meeting time was clearly designated, so if one of us didn't show, the other would have some means of locating..." Hot Rod trailed off, suddenly aware of Magnus' anger and disappointment.

"Would you mind showing me where in your orders it specifies that you and Arcee were to split up?" Magnus asked coldly.

"I... I can't do that, sir. It wasn't specified."

"Then why, may I ask, did you separate on a scouting mission on a planet controlled by the Decepticons? Perhaps there's a few things you could teach me." Magnus folded his arms impatiently, his blue eyes boring into the young Autobot's spark.

"With all due respect, Ultra Magnus, it was in the interest of saving time and covering more ground. The less time spent in enemy territory, the less..."

"Less time?" barked Ultra Magnus. "Did you have some more pressing engagement, some urgent appointment that we didn't know about?"

Hot Rod cringed. He'd never, in his solar cycle of service with the Autobots, seen the stalwart Ultra Magnus so full of rage. 

"Less risk! We thought there’d be less risk! I'm sorry! I realize now that we should have cleared it with you. We didn't have the experience or the resources to split up and search. I take full responsibility for this and for whatever happened to Arcee."

For the moment, Magnus relented. He was a soldier to the core, a firm believer in rules and discipline, and his task of training new recruits grew more and more daunting with each passing year. They were always so bold, so fresh, so quick to impress. For a time, he had tried to embrace that fresh energy, that fertile idealism of a young Autobot spark. But with Hot Rod, he found that embracing it only led to disobedience and occasionally outright chaos. 

But now, with Arcee gone and this bizarre new threat, discipline would have to wait. He couldn't afford to stand on ceremony this time.

"You understand what you've done wrong," he muttered ruefully. "Now let's focus on finding Arcee. Grimlock, report in to Perceptor. We'll contact the moon base when we've found something."

"Me Grimlock say me glad me not Hot Rod right now."

Magnus sighed. "Just go. Without any color commentary, if you can manage it?"

"Magnus, what you mean, 'color commentary?'"

"Grimlock, go. Now."

"Okay, okay. Me going."

The shuttle roared off into the sky, back towards the vulnerable as-yet-under-construction Autobot moonbase, fading away until as last it merely glimmered. Hot Rod could barely make its outline out against the dull, flat grey surface of the largest of Cybertron's many iron ore moons.

* * *

As Arcee hovered in deep recharge, Syphon could scarcely remove his optics from her dainty curves, the exquisite illusion of supple pink skin that her creator bestowed upon her. She is too close to perfection, this Autobot, he mused. I must possess her.

But would she accept me, a monster such as myself? I cannot cause her any pain...

Slag pit to that! I’ll cause her pretty face so much pain.

Finally, her optics brightened, and she gazed sleepily around the dim room. Where am I? she asked herself, strangely unafraid.

Tiny energon lights flickered in the corners and from the table beside the recharge berth, while a single, gossamer curtain flapped at the only window, high up on the one wall that was partially above ground. The entire room was decidedly small and totally devoid of weapons, computer consoles, and the usual trappings of any Transformer dwelling, Autobot or Decepticon. A lone computer monitor, pared down only for surveillance purposes, sat forlornly on a desk full of books and scattered papers, folded in halves and forgotten. Beautiful laser-lithographs of lavish Cybertronian landscapes and candid sketches of its inhabitants decorated the walls, and a grand spiral staircase in one corner lead up to the entrance hatch. A low table in the center of the room was decorated with a small sculpture of two femmes, one Autobot, one Decepticon, embracing as sisters, their weapons tossed aside, forgotten. This strange room, though terribly unfamiliar, felt oddly safe, almost cozy. It was as if she knew, or felt, somehow, that no harm would come to her.

"Awake so soon, my dear? And I wasn't even done with my drawing. Pity," whispered Syphon with genuine sadness in his voice. He laid his sketchpad beside him on his chaise and smiled warmly.

Suddenly, in a painful fit of memory, Arcee recalled the circumstances under which she had been brought to Syphon's lair. She sprang up from the recharge berth in a flurry of silken sheets and assumed a defensive pose.

"Where am I, and what have you done with Hot Rod?"

Syphon's smile broadened, revealing for the first time that evening a set of gleaming white fangs. He chuckled softly, sweeping his arms across the sparse room. "Hush, hush, my darling. You're in my home, beneath the surface of Cybertron. Surely, to a female Autobot, the concept of living underground should hardly seem unusual, no?" He laughed again, a warm, friendly laugh that might have put Arcee at ease had it not been for his frightfully sharp teeth. And his Decepticon symbol.

"I had no idea the Decepticons had an underground base in this sector," growled Arcee, still not amused.

"Well, my precious, neither do they.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m no Decepticon. These emblems? Relics. And, for the record, I certainly hope that Megatron and his unfashionable band of hooligans never learn the location of my little hideaway, okay?" Syphon rubbed his hands together and rose from the couch, his movements genial and fluid. His angular black wings formed a long black cape that seemed to drape itself carelessly wherever he moved. "Now then, if you'll allow me to ask you a question, I'd like to know who this 'Hot Rod' fellow is. A friend of yours, perhaps?" He hesitated before adding, "He sounds... fun."

Arcee's cool gaze locked with Syphon's. His face was handsome, even for a Decepticon, with his wide, curious, almost affectionate smile and chiseled, aristocratic features. The beautiful simplicity of his face, the kindness it exuded, was more than enough to make her feel comfortable, despite the fact that he had kidnapped her.

Typical seeker build. Arrogant little frags, she thought. She'd let her guard down. It was quite clear to her then that this creature was not so much a threat as he was a mighty nuisance. 

Then why had he brought her here? Who... what was he? He was most certainly a mech, and was, or had been, a Decepticon. But his genteel manner, those slender limbs which belied an unnatural strength and power, the swift grace with which he seemed to glide about the room, soundless... he seemed to her to be some odd fusion of mech and femme. And those peculiar teeth!

Finally, she spoke. "A fellow soldier, Hot Rod, accompanied me here. To Cybertron."

Syphon's face darkened. "So, I take it you aren't from around here?"

Arcee bit her lip. Why were her gyros off-balance? She felt as if she were about to empty her tank when, suddenly… calm. "I... I shouldn't be telling you any of this. Please, whoever you are-"

"My dear, they call me Syphon,” he said, bowing with a flourish. "I am your humble host and you, delicate flower, are my esteemed guest." He extended a hand to her, white and lithesome and as cold as the depths of space itself.

Arcee reached out and took his hand, clasping it briefly, professionally. "My name is Arcee, Autobot Ensign Second Class. Now, if you don't mind, I'll be leaving. You brought me here against my will, and I haven't the foggiest idea why I haven't left yet." She was acutely aware that he was blocking her way to the staircase and the only entrance and exit to his den. "Please, Syphon. Let me go peacefully. If I am your hostage, then alert the Autobots. Ask for a ransom. I sense that you would have destroyed me by now if that was your intention."

He moved closer to her, seizing her hand again and drenching it in little kisses. "Your senses serve you well, Arcee. However, I can tell you why you haven't tried to leave yet."

"Oh, can you?" Arcee asked, tugging her hand away. "Why?"

"Because you don't want to." He tightened his grasp around her wrist.

"Don't be ridiculous," she remarked. "Now step aside. I need to find my friend." She pushed past him abruptly, but his grasp on her never relented, and she felt her body being jerked back into his waiting embrace.

"See, my beautiful flower? You don't want to leave."

Arcee panicked. "Let go of me!"

"Why? The planet above us is crawling with Megatron's goons. I have it on good authority. Your friend, Hot Rod, is he strong? He sounds like an absolute brute, judging by his name. A really _fun_ brute, but an absolute brute."

Arcee struggled for an answer. Her face fell, as if she’d given up hope, and she fell against Syphon’s chest. "I suppose. I wouldn't call him a brute, but he's quite strong." If headstrong counts, she added silently.

"Then I assure you he can take care of himself. Please, remain here with me. Where it’s safe." He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to his chaise. "I apologize for being so bold, but I really do enjoy your company and implore you to reconsider running from me."

"I should've left when I had the chance."

Syphon chuckled heartily, swishing his cape about the room as he fussed to make his reluctant guest more comfortable. “By the by, you didn't. You didn't leave. In fact, my darling, you never even _tried_ to leave. Your will kept you here, and your will is the only thing imprisoning you. Beautiful, tormented creature," he sighed, stroking her cheek.

"Please... don't touch me that way," she whispered.

"And why not? Do you have a love already, Arcee?"

Did she have a _love_? What kind of question was that? She had Springer... was he her love? Who knew? I can't believe I'm being this careless! Why is he forcing me to think about these things at a time like this?

"I don't see how that's any of your business," she said, wrestling herself free from his grasp. "It makes me uncomfortable. Please, just keep your hands to yourself." She sat beside him on the chaise, studying him. Best not make a move for the door just yet. Too risky.

"I can read your thoughts, Arcee. I can move faster than you and, as I've already demonstrated this evening, I am stronger than you. Perhaps I can help you put these silly thoughts out of your head by removing this distraction," said Syphon, and with a wave of his hand, the grand staircase before them vanished into subspace.

Arcee's optics glowed with surprise. "You... you can't possibly..."

"I think I just did," came his triumphant reply.

Arcee fought to silence her pounding fuel pump. I must not show him my fear. If I am to get away from here.

Then, she noticed the sketchbook that had fallen to the floor. “May I?”

Syphon beamed. “Of course, darling.”

Tentatively, she picked it up and began to leaf through its pages. On every page, every picture, was a thumbnail sketch of herself, in recharge, blissful and pure.

"How long was I asleep?" she asked him nervously, hoping to distract him.

"You enjoy my sketches, then?"

"They _are_ beautiful." Every feature, every detail, had been captured as _she_ had been captured and committed to the page with obsessive accuracy.

"I work quickly... you slept only for a few cycles."

"Hmmm." As she neared the end of the sketch book, she noticed a subtle but definite change in how Syphon had rendered her. Her coloring darkened from shades of pink to shades of crimson, then violet and smoky grey. The shape of her helmet became somewhat more angular, or was it a trick of the light? "These last pictures... they look different, somehow."

"Do they displease you? At first, I set out to draw you as you are, but as I became more entranced by your beauty, I was inspired to draw you... as I see you. As you soon will be."

Arcee froze, the sketchbook opened to the last, unfinished drawing of herself. "I... is this some kind of... blueprint? What, exactly, do you intend to do with me?"

Syphon just laughed, the milky and condescending sound filling the den as he boldly placed an arm around her. "You're tired and probably hungry. Rest assured, I won't do anything to you without your consent."

"You won't be offended if I don't believe you?"

"Not in the slightest, my dear. Not in the slightest."


	4. Always a Rake and Always a Bastard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Syphon's mean, and he's got relatives and captives in various places. Also, he's voracious. Thanks to the Decemberists for the chapter title.

I am _ruined_ , thought Starscream. Utterly... and _completely_ ruined! Mind poisoned, thoughts ruined… poisoned with the sick affections from this perverse aberration.

Worse, I should _probably_ be able to recognize this awful beast. He absolutely resembles some mech from a long ago Trine of mine. I’m sure my mind is simply handing my subconscious a truckload of psychoanalytical nonsense. As protection.

Psychoanalytical nonsense. The sins of the father, the overbearing mother, the birth order.. all this slag proven totally wrong on Earth sadly proved true among Cybertronians. A fiction created by my processors to explain why a stranger would come at me so fiercely with vulgar intent. Oh how fragging protective.

Or… perhaps not. You always knew your spark-twin Syphon to be a rake and a bastard, as the Earth song goes. He couldn’t have survived. He simply _couldn’t_ have.

How could he have survived?

I am incapable of completing a recharge cycle, my tank is constantly on the brink of involuntary discharge, and the mere sight of my own dark face, marred and soiled, sickens me, worried Starscream.

A thin wisp of luminous pink smoke escaped his lips as he sighed. Terrified to leave the base, Starscream had barricaded himself in the darkened med bay where Hook had resuscitated him over two teracycles ago, with only his own nightmares to keep him company. Megatron had, mercifully, removed him from active duty until he was "well."

And all the opinions on whether he would recover, or whether he’d succumb to his own personal demons?

One could make a book on it. And they did.

Energon cubes were tossed about like dice and dominoes as all the other Decepticons bet on Starscream’s fate.

His trine remained loyal. Though Skywarp did steal away that one time.

And nobody noticed.

That _one_ time…

Now Starscream paced the length of the repair bay, chain-smoking and haunted, tormenting himself with unanswerable questions, burning holes in his psyche. Over and over again, the visions of Syphon came, taunting him, revisiting him and tearing at his consciousness with all of their filthy innuendoes:

"You are not a mech...” came a lilting whisper.

“That creature treated you as one would treat a _femme_! You offered yourself to him, face up, like a femme. Yes, you did, you _did_ , Starscream. _Yes, you did_!

“You liked that, _didn’t_ you? _Didn’t you_? You go out and go about with other mechs… gave up your seal to your Trine... turned over onto your face for so many, _many_ times…”

"Aiiiiigh! Enough!" howled Starscream, dashing his lithium cigarette to the floor and throwing himself down onto the repair berth. Curling himself into a ball, he clawed at his audials, silently begging for release from these torturous memories. Cycles passed; the voices died down, eventually. They would return.

They always did. 

Starscream curled up tighter, drawing his wings around himself like a cocoon. Reaching for a thermal coverlet, he huddled, knees to cockpit, shivering, whimpering.

After many Earth hours, later, and finally regaining his wits about him, Starscream sat up and scanned the room nervously. Hands shaking, he fumbled to light yet another cigarette. He inhaled deeply, allowing the sublime blend of elemental lithium and cobalt to penetrate his neural net before exhaling. No effect; his nerves were still as frayed as asbestos beaten to a gossamer, tangled wad of poison.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you those things can kill you?" came a soft, yet familiar voice from behind him.

Starscream whirled about on his repair berth. "Who- Who said that?" he asked timidly, his reflexes twitching on the brink of hysteria. He was certain he never heard the door open, and when he glanced around, he saw nothing but the same four walls of the repair bay.

"I up here, brainiac. Nebulous Primus... just how I like 'em. Beautiful _and_ stupid." Starscream jerked his head back, his optics desperately searching the ceiling for the owner of the voice. They confirmed his worst fear.

"You!" was all Starscream managed before his voice synthesizer failed him at the sight of his lithe, pale visitor. His terror had actually overloaded his vocalizer, shutting it down and rendering him temporarily silent but not utterly helpless.

Syphon grinned contentedly, his pointed denta glinting in the darkness as he hovered above Starscream. "Don't bother getting up, dear. I'll come to you. Down to your _pitiful_ level." With that, Syphon descended upon the trembling and mortified Starscream, crashing down upon him in a tempest of black and silver.

And then, in a hideous flashback made real by some terrible lack of good fortune, Starscream found himself once again paralyzed by Syphon's impossible strength, those menacing scarlet eyes mocking him with their wicked hunger. In the imitation security of the med bay cocoon, Starscream kicked and struggled, completely unwilling to participate in this foul burlesque of intimacy a second time. Soon, he found his voice.

"Why are you doing this?" he whispered, the sound barely leaving his lips.

Syphon shifted his weight, securing Starscream's legs beneath his. "You know, I asked myself the same question on my way here. Like I said, these are typically one-night things. However, we’ve got a bit of history to sort out, _brother_. I'm awfully thirsty, you're an easy target, and I've sort of got another mouth to feed at home. So quit squirming, and we can make this enjoyable for both of us, okay?" The last remark cut into Starscream, filling his mouth with the bitter taste of dread.

"Enjoyable? How dare you say such things!" croaked Starscream, repulsed. “Oh, Primus, no… you’re… you’re _Syphon_! You’re truly Syphon! You’re dead- supposed to be dead- you are DEAD!”

"Shh... no more of that silly talk. I'm thirsty." Syphon moved his mouth over Starscream's, kissing him fleetingly on his lips before sinking his teeth into his face and tearing his way down his chin to his neck.

Starscream cried out; the sensation of the derma of his face being torn open burned intensely. He could feel Syphon’s wanton drinking, the greedy lapping at his wounds, the pulsing energon in his conduits leaping out to be slurped at by his attacker’s waiting glossa. 

Syphon paused only briefly to clear his vents and gasp for a bit of air. When he did, his cruel optics met with Starscream's, shining with a kind of blissful madness. Worse, his attacker’s pale sculpted chin was decorated with an obscene smear of Starscream’s energon.

And then he plunged his face down for yet another helping.

This cannot be happening again, thought Starscream, his senses slipping away. Help me, someone, help! But no sound came. Vocalizer offline. Too many of my enemies are aware of how to do this, he thought.

Why won't they come help me? Maybe Shockwave let him in here to finish me off... He winced as sharp claws dug themselves into the left side of his body; he saw Syphon pull away through clouded optics. He's collecting my energon in a cube? Why? Oh, by Primus, it just didn't make any sense! Robots aren't supposed to harvest energon from each other’s bodies!

"And why is that, my delicious little bastard?" lisped Syphon.

"You read my… my thoughts?" whispered Starscream, drowsily, jerking his head up from the table. "How is it that you can read my thoughts?"

"Don't concern yourself with these things, my loving brother," cooed Syphon, gently pushing him back down onto the table. "Now hold still; you're making a _huge_ mess." A sizable puddle of energon indeed had been wasted on the floor when Starscream had tried to struggle free. Syphon regarded the wounded Seeker for a moment, contemplating the withering form on the repair berth before him. He brought his face close to Starscream's, the corners of his mouth soiled with congealed energon residue. "You know, I could consume you entirely, Screamer. I could come back for you again and again and again and again."

"Why? Why _me_?"

Syphon smirked. "Because you're easy, you're a total silver fox, and-" He paused, then added, "you really taste that good, _brother_." Syphon shrugged nonchalantly. "I mean, what with all the drugs you do..."

Small comfort thought Starscream. "Then finish it. Take all of my energon. I don't want to live, not with you stalking me..."

Syphon's optics brightened with puzzled amusement. He placed a hand jauntily on his hip and gave a little fey laugh. "Aren't you the little whore, giving it all up on the second date."

Starscream struggled into a weak upright position before slumping back onto the berth. "Kill me!" he begged, his optics dimming from lack of energon flow to them. "Send me to the smelting pits, that I might know peace again. Please..."

Syphon shook his head. "Sorry, lover-brother. No can do. Cheer up; I'm about to give you a gift. I won't waste precious nanocycles chatting with you about it, but just know; I couldn't kill you even if I wanted to. Not me, not anyone. You will recover. Hook will fix you up, and the next time I get a craving for Air Commander, I'll know exactly where to find you." Syphon busied himself with gathering up the two energon cubes, still warm with Starscream's body heat, and stowing them in his subspace pocket. He turned, his black cape swirling about his ankles, and gave Starscream a sympathetic, reassuring look.

"Y’know, Screamer, I'd kiss you goodbye, but… you look really nasty right now. So, I'll blow you... a kiss, I mean." And he kissed his own lithe fingertips, gingerly at first, then a little more fervently, taking them into his mouth and pricking his index finger on one of his sharp teeth. A little trickle of energon sprang forth from the wound, an energon darker and thicker than Starscream's. He then pressed those fingers to Starscream's disfigured lips, forcing several violet droplets into his victim's slackjawed mouth. Revulsion rose up in Starscream's tank, as weak as it was; he turned his head and spat in a futile effort to rid his failing body of this demon's energon.

"Now, now... swallow more, or you won't get your present." Syphon shoved a few more of the nearly black drops of energon down Starscream’s unwilling throat.

Moments later, Syphon cloaked himself and vanished, withdrawing soundlessly from Decepticon headquarters. Starscream watched for a moment, frantically uttering little odd prayers to Primus and/or Earth’s God until the stench of his own energon congealing on the floor around him became overwhelming, and he fell into a deep recharge from which he hoped to never awaken.


End file.
